


changing by the minute and the record on repeat

by rayguntomyhead



Series: mad city [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayguntomyhead/pseuds/rayguntomyhead
Summary: “Mech, you’ve got to find a better place to trip.”Drift stares blearily up at the blurred faceplates of the mech looming over him. His arms cross over his chest with altogether too much censure for someone else who is also slumming around the dirty backside of the pit that is Dead End.or Drift meet Gasket
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Gasket
Series: mad city [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871551
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	changing by the minute and the record on repeat

**Author's Note:**

> little prequel set before flowers

“Mech, you’ve got to find a better place to trip.”

Drift stares blearily up at the blurred faceplates of the mech looming over him. His arms cross over his chest with altogether too much censure for someone else who is also slumming around the dirty backside of the pit that is Dead End. Drift would very much like to say _frag off_ to both the mech and his judgy arms but that would require figuring out how to activate the connection between his brain and his vocalizer again. 

“I’m serious,” the mech says. “It’s your processor but if you stay here, soon enough it won’t be.”

What the hell does _that_ mean? Drift manages to make his face twist into an expression that he hope conveys the depth of his baffled disdain. Take _that_ Judgy Arms.

“Because someone will take you apart and make off with the valuable bits,” the mech says, “if you didn’t get that. You don’t want to know what a mech can get for an intact processor around here.”

Drift stares at him, and doesn’t budge. Possibly that’s because he can’t seem to activate his motor controls, but whatever. Minor details. The mech sighs. 

“Okay,” he says. “So clearly you don’t care. But I was having a quiet night, a _nice_ night even considering the world is a giant dumpster fire and here you are practically with a neon sign over your head saying _come and get it_ and before you know it whoops! In come the frame snatchers with their noisy tools and trigger-happy fingers and how exactly am supposed to sleep through _that_.” 

He squats, eying Drift’s frame up and down. 

“Besides, I like this block. Figuring on sticking around, so here’s how this is gonna work. I’m gonna pick you up, and we’re gonna go back to my spot so you can ride this out somewhere you _won’t_ be poking out of an alley like a crystal ripe for mining.”

Noooo. Drift wills his frame to move, because like Pits is he going anywhere with some stranger. He wasn’t sparked yesterday. Okay, maybe only by a few cycles, but still. He glares up with every bit of _frag off_ he can summon up out of his jumbled processor. 

“Yeah, if you had the energy to move, I might be intimidated, kid,” the mech says. “Actually scratch that. No I wouldn’t.”

Rude. 

Before Drift can continue his attempts to activate his vocalizer so he can curse the mech out properly, the mech grabs his wrists, tugging Drift up until he can get Drift’s chassis braced on his shoulder and heaves. 

Whoops. Wow, the ground looks funny like this. And why is there a number on Judgy Arm’s aft? That’s weird. It’s moving too, no, wait, _he’s_ moving, frame swaying and pinned precariously by an arm across his thighs. His tank gives an ominous rumble. 

“Oh no, you just keep all that to yourself,” the mech says. “I swear to Unicron if you purge on me…” 

Drift doesn’t get to hear exactly what the mech plans to do if he purges because with a sudden lurch his vision goes spotty, filaments of light dancing in his optical field, and the world goes black. 

When Drift wakes up, he’s not outside anymore. Although not outside might be a bit generous of a descriptor, considering there’s more holes than there is wall. 

“Excuse you,” a voice says, and Drift startles. Did he say that out loud?

“I’ll have you know those are picture windows and they provide an _excellent_ view.” 

Drift opens his mouth to say… something, but apparently now that he wants to talk his vocalizer’s gone right back to not cooperating. His limbs are still sluggish, and he’s propped up against the wall of… wherever this is, which is probably a good thing considering he’s not sure he’d be able to sit up under his own power yet. 

“No really,” Judgy Arms says from his seat on the dingy heap of blankets half an arm length away. “Look, you can see the lights.” 

Drift flops his head to the side, staring up and out. The mech’s right, actually. They’re dim, just the faint damp glow of orange and white spattered across the layers of city above them. It’s pretty, the way they pulse with an energy so steady he can almost hear the hum of it.

“Told you this block was nice,” the mech says. “Can’t get a view like this just anywhere.”

Which is not wrong. All of the unoccupied boltholes Drift’s found have been more like burrows; an overturned disposal bin, a crawlspace, even an abandoned piece of pipe once.

“So anyway,” the mech says. “I figure you we should probably trade designations, considering we’re sharing a hab for the immediate future. I’m Gasket.”

Drift works his lips, coughing out the layers of static in his vocalizer until he can croak out, “Drift. ‘M name’s Drift.” 

“Pleasure,” Gasket says. “And also you’re welcome.” 

Drift scowls.

“F’r what?”

Gasket stares up at the ceiling like he’s beseeching Primus for patience. 

“Uh, saving you from being dismembered alive,” he says. “Or siphoned alive. Or being dragged off to… look, the point is none of those things happened so now you can continue boosting yourself into oblivion in peace.”

“Wasn’t _boosting,_ ” Drift says. Whatever that is. 

“Then what were you doing?” Gasket says. “Cause you definitely look high to me.”

“I was minding my own damn business,” Drift says. “It was just some bad fuel.”

“Mmhm. And I don’t suppose some suspiciously nice mech just handed it off to you, did he?” Gasket raises an optical ridge when Drift just glares at him grumpily. The skiv had seemed nice enough, had _said_ it was a kind of energon he didn’t like and if Drift didn’t take it he was going to dump it on the street. On the _street_ , for Primus’ sake. Like Drift was just gonna stand there and let him waste perfectly good fuel. Should have known it was too good to be true, he was just so damn hungry.

“Uh huh, so pro tip, mech,” Gasket says. “If it looks to good to be true it probably is. Least you managed to wander yourself away before the slaghead that set you up got the drop on you.”

He eyes Drift up and down. 

“Speedster, right? We burn through additives weird, that probably helped.” 

Speedster? Drift’s finials shoot forward.

“You’re one too?”

“Former Racer, at your service,” Gasket makes a sarcastic little tap on his chest. There’s something in the twist of his lips that warns Drift not to ask. His gears may still be squeaky but he’s not on _idiot._ Even if he’d really like to see if Gasket knows more about what that means, if he gets the urge to just drop to his tires and _drive_ and never stop. Maybe later, once he’s got Gasket figured out but for now– 

“So where do _you_ get energon then?” he says. 

“Mech, you don’t wanna do what I do,” Gasket says, and leans back against the wall. He reaches one hand absently to rustle around in his subspace and pulls out a stick of… something, A quick flick to the side and the end glows a dark sparking red. Gasket brings it to his mouth takes a long drag. 

“You don’t know what I want,” Drift says. “Pretty sure I wanna eat.” 

Gasket snorts. 

“Fair.”

The stick glows brighter with each long drag Gasket takes, blowing mouthfuls of smoke absently into the air and filling the room with a sickly sweet mellow sort of smell. 

“Tell you what,” he says. “You stick around, I’ll show you better ways to get fuel, that don’t involve taking slag off of random opportunists.” 

Drift cocks his head, optics narrowing.

“An’ what do you get outta it?” he says. “Pretty sure someone just told me if it looks too good to be true it probably is.”

Gasket optic ridges shoot up, and then he guffaws. 

“Pits, mech, you pick it up quick.” 

“Uh huh,” Drift says. “And?” 

“If I wanted to frag you over, woulda done it while you were high out of your mind,” he says, takes another long drag off his stick. 

Point. 

“Still not answering my question,” Drift says.His helm throbs, frame starting to ache like he’s been run over by a convoy and his tank lurches every time he moves. And he’s still slagging hungry. 

“Hmm,” Gasket says, and waves the stick at Drift. “Want a drag?” 

Drift eyes it. 

“Don’t worry, ’s just a cig. It’s not gonna mess you up, just mellows you out,” Gasket says. “Might help the helmache you got going on, don’t deny it, I’ve done Syk before.”

Is that what was in that energon. Fine. Whatever. What’s he got to lose? Drift grabs the cig out of Gasket’s hand, and sucks on it. Immediately his intake burns and he starts coughing, autonomics trying to clear it.

“Slow down, Primus,” Gasket says. “Suck in a little at a time, then blow it out.”

Drift glowers, slumps lower on the pile of bedding. He tries again, this time managing to suppress his reflexes long enough to pull the stick away from his mouth and blow it out just like Gasket had. 

“There you go,” Gasket says, vocal inflections approving. “Keep picking everything up this quick and you’re not gonna have a problem down here.” 

“And you’re just gonna help me outta the goodness of your spark, huh?” Drift says, ignoring the bright little curl of warmth at Gasket’s praise. He doesn’t get it. No one down here does anyone favors just because. Nobody.

Gasket’s face sobers. 

“Yeah, mech,” he says.“I am.” 

Drift thunks his head back against the wall.

“ _Why_?” 

Gasket plucks the cig out of his hand, takes a drag. He’s quiet long enough Drift’s about to give in to the slow warmth overtaking over the pain in his processor, and says, “‘Everyone needs a chance."

He glances at Drift, his mouth quirks up in something that’s not quite a smile.

"'Cause I can.”

Huh. Weird-aft mech. Drift ruffles his plating, stares down at his hands. 

“That good enough for now?" Gasket says. "Now c’mere, it’s getting cold and two engines are better than one.”

He slings an arm around Drift’s shoulder, tugging him sideways until Drift is slumped against him. The low growling purr of his engine is soothing, his vents blowing warm over Drift’s plating. It’s… it’s nice. Weird, being this close to another mech. There’s a hazy memory of onlining like this, packed in close with other mechs before he got thrown out like so much scrap but this is solid. Real. 

Drift’s engine slowly winds down, rumbling into synch with Gasket’s. Fine. Guess he’ll stick around for a little while. Give this a chance. He can always leave in the morning. And who knows – maybe it’ll even work out. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are <3


End file.
